Chante Pour Moi
by minn's.star
Summary: "I am going to save you." She repeated, with conviction. "I am going to save all of France." - fem!FrancexJeanne d'Arc, M for heavily implied sex between country and historical figure.
1. Chante Pour Moi

She was only a child when Marianne first saw her.

She was just a child, in the meadows like most poor children her age. Marianne would not have paid a second glance to the girl if she had not looked so upset.

She pulled on the horses reins and stopped the creature from galloping further, and she stepped off before the nice young men escorting her even had a chance to ask where she was going. They probably thought her mad, and she probably was. Marianne Bonnefoy, the wealthy Marianne Bonnefoy, stopping for something so trivial seemed simply absurd- but she felt that she had to.

Getting closer now while mud stained the hem of her skirts, she could see that the child was crying. It made her heart wrench terribly for some reason, and though her body already ached from the English, the Burgundians, and of her many more suffering people, she couldn't bring herself to go home and rest just yet. Watching this poor little girl sobbing in a dirty field made her feel almost _guilty_ for wanting to go home to the luxuries of a warm bed, enough food to eat- how dare she when people, this child, were denied these luxuries by cruel fate?

Since when did she care? Should any of the others hear her talking like this she would surely be ridiculed- but she couldn't bring herself to think about those consequences for the moment. Though it was true that over the ages Marianne had worked to desensitize herself, grow used to the aching in her body and the phantom cries of her people simply so that she could stay alive there was something so raw about a lone child's cries. It chilled her to the bone.

"Hush, _mon enfant, _why do you cry?" She crooned gently, kneeling down and ruining her dress even further. She put her hand on the girl's shoulder- risking disease in the name of comfort- and leaned down to see what she was looking at. It looked like a baby bird, fragile and malnourished, cradled in the girl's lap. The girl, with a dirty face from tears and dirt, looked up at her and sniffled while tears trailed down her cheeks.

"T-the bird cannot fly…" She whimpered. "The others said that it would starve… I-I wanted to take it home but we barely have enough food for Mama…"

Kindness was something that had long been forsaken to Marianne's tired eyes, and being graced with it once again was like being blinded. It was amazing and beautiful.

"Hush, mon chéri, it shall not starve." She assured, gently. "Let me see it."

Nervously, as though she were to be beaten of she moved too fast, the girl cupped the bird in her hands and raised it to Marianne's eye level. It was even more pathetic up close, and it tugged at Marianne's heartstrings to listen to the thing squall with the child sobbing softly behind it. She reached out her own hands slowly and cupped the girl's tiny hands in her own.

"If you would part with monsieur bird, I will take him and feed him. Would you like that?" She asked, gently. It was silly, referring to the animal with such a title, but it made the little girl giggle a little.

"Oui." She said, smiling a little now. "Merci."

Marianna could feel herself smiling, too now. It was nice, the connection she had with her people. Though more often than not she wished she could curse it, rid of it so she needn't feel all of her people's suffering, it was times like these that she appreciated it. "Does monsieur have a name?" She asked, hoping to leave the child on a happier note. The girl looked like she was pondering now, and after a few moments she finally answered.

"Pierre." She said, simply.

"That is a good name for a bird." Marianne praised. She would have made a good mother, had she not found the prospect of men, and childbirth so disturbing. The little girl beamed, and it was in that smile that she saw- was enlightened, really- that this little girl was going to do something great one day. She wasn't sure what it was, but she just _knew_. She always knew her people.

"Merci." She said, again. She looked at the sky then, and her face fell. "I must be getting home now. Mama will surely need me soon…" She looked back at Marianne now, almost apologetically.

"It's alright." She soothed. "Rest assured that Pierre will be just fine."

Another merci- she was so polite- and then she stood and started to walk away until Marianne called to her one last time.

"Your name, mon chéri?"

"Jeanne d'Arc. And yours?"

"Marianne Bonnefoy- France." She said, with a soft, bittersweet smile as she watched Jeanne wave and walk back to her hardships. Surely, she didn't understand why she had said France, most of them felt it- felt, but never understood- but she felt that she should say it, just this once. Just to her. She was going to do something great one day, after all.

She walked back to her horse, covered in mud, and took the rest of the journey home, bones aching all over again.

* * *

><p>Pierre had not starved. As a matter of fact, he had grown quite plump under Marianne's almost obsessive care.<p>

Gisella sometimes teased her that she loved the bid more than her people, and she didn't- she just loved the bird. It was hard to love her people sometimes when they made her body bruise and made her starve, no matter how much she stayed away from all of the violence and no matter how much food she had on the table. Still though, she fought not to grow bitter. Pierre was a reminder of kindness, innocence, purity in the human race- Jeanne.

It was creepy how much she thought about the girl, actually.

She had longed to see her again. Time and time again she searched for her- but every time she failed to find that field where they had met. Even the beggars on the street didn't know of any Jeanne d'Arc- that, or they resented the lady with the nice clothes and money to buy food. She was never sure which. It made her want to tell them that _dammit she suffered just as much as they did, and they'd better fucking tell here where Mademoiselle Jeanne was right that instant_. That, of course, could not be done. Ladies were not to speak in such ways.

One day though, it seemed as though god had decided to humor her and bring Jeanne to her.

She was walking through Orleans, basket of bread in hand, when she heard the cry- "Mademoiselle! Madamoiselle!" It called, footsteps behind her. She turned, expecting a nameless face- and was proven wrong in an instant. There she was, her hand extended with one of Marianne's handkerchiefs that she had dropped. There was Jeanne.

"Mademoiselle, you dropped your-"

Jeanne's voice stopped short in an instant once she saw her face, and suddenly she smiled. She remembered. She had remembered. It made Marianne almost unreasonably happy to know that the feeling- that strange feeling- was mutual.

"Merci." She said, breaking the silence. "You may keep that, though. Surely it will be of some use to you, non?"

It was silly, her wanting Jeanne to keep the piece of cloth that she kept tucked securely at her breast, but she had Pierre- she only wanted Jeanne to have something concrete, too.

"Marianne?" Jeanne asked, cautiously, as though wondering if she wasn't mistaken. It made her smile.

"Bonjour, Jeanne. Pierre is doing just fine."

* * *

><p>They talked for hours.<p>

Never, _never _in all of her ages as a country, had something so good seemed to last so long. Usually the good times were too short and the bad were endless, but today the good seemed like it may actually last for a while. Jeanne had led her back to the field where they had first met, and there they spent a long, long time sharing a loaf of bread and just talking. They spoke of the flowers in the meadow, of the beautiful weather, of Pierre's progress- anything there was to speak of. They even spoke of god.

"God talks to me." She said, as she picked a flower from the grass.

"He does to all in church." Marianne offered, not coldly and not even matter-of-factly. It was just all she knew how to respond with. She didn't want to scare the poor human-girl with the questions that others like her-Gisella, Alejandra- usually asked.

"Non. He sends me visions." Jeanne responded, picking another flower.

"…What?"

"He speaks to me. In my dreams, he speaks to me. He tells me to be kind to all, that love is always the right answer- if it is with love, one will always make the right decision."

Marianne, for once, did not know how to respond. Maybe this was what ignorance felt like, ignorance that she looked down on her people for suddenly seemed so much harder to overcome than she thought it was.

"I sound insane to you, don't I?"Jeanne asked, after minutes.

"Non. Do not ever call yourself that, Jeanne." Marianne scolded, even though it was too gentle to really be a scolding. She wasn't sure what she believed, but she would believe Jeanne. If god was to come to anyone, it should be her. She wasn't sure why, but it should be. After all, she was going to do something great one day. Whether it was by god's hand or something else entirely, she would do something great.

"… I believe you." Marianne finally felt herself saying.

"Merci."

They sat in silence together then, until Jeanne moved behind Marianne with a bunch of flowers in her lap now. Marianne didn't say a word, curious as she was. Eventually, she felt the bun in her hair being undone, and then redone, and then something that was not her usual hair adornments poked at the back of her head. When Jeanne eventually moved back beside her, the flowers in her lap were all gone but two, and Marianne suddenly knew what was poking her.

"Merci." She giggled, and then laughed. She didn't know why she was laughing, because it wasn't particularly funny to have one's hair done, but Jeanne laughed too. The two laughed, and laughed, and they were probably the first to in a long, long time.

After they had both calmed themselves, Marianne found herself tucking the last few flowers behind Jeanne's ear. 'We match." She explained when Jeanne looked at her in a questioning sort of way. She seemed satisfied with the answer though, and then they went back to sitting in silence, this time more comfortably. Eventually though, the sun began to fall as it always did, and they spent their last few moments watching the hillside dim together.

"I am going to save you." Jeanne announced, abruptly.

"What?" Marianne asked, tilting her head to the side.

"I am going to save you." She repeated, with conviction. "I am going to save all of France." She leaned over now and planted her lips on Marianne's. They were dry, probably cracked, but for some reason Marianne found herself welcoming the touch. It was different than all of the dinners she went to, the typical kisses that were given as courtesy greetings- this meant something.

When Jeanne pulled her head back, she repeated herself again. "You, France- Marianne Bonnefoy, I am going to save you."

Jeanne had understood that day, long long ago. For once in her life, Marianne felt loved. Maybe that was why it was so painful to watch Jeanne walk away again.

* * *

><p>She did not have to wait too long for her return, however.<p>

_Gentle Daulphin! The king of heaven commands through me you shall be anointed and crowned… _Were the famous words she said. All eyes in the room were trained on her- her eyes were trained on Marianne.

Jeanne stood in front of him, and Marianne stood behind, but it was almost as though he weren't there. Jeanne saw Marianne. Marianne saw Jeanne. And the time spent begging, pleading to save France seemed like too much time to the both of them, Marianne was sure. She just wanted to be with Jeanne again. She wanted to be someone, and not just that woman who stood behind Daulphin, and not just a place on a map- she wanted to be who she was to Jeanne.

She was horrified when she heard what Jeanne had planned.

She was going to save France, she said. She was going to wage a war to save France. For this she was giving her life, her already too short life, and it made Marianne sick to her stomach. For once in a very long time, she felt that she couldn't put food in her empty stomach or she would be even sicker.

When negotiations were over, the first thing Marianne did was leave the room, and the first thing Jeanne did was follow. All eyes in the room were trained on Jeanne once again, and once again Jeanne's eyes were trained on her. Marianne wanted to stop and turn around, wait for Jeanne, but it was safer to lead her. She eventually stopped upon reaching her quarters, and Jeanne wrapped her on her arms the moment she caught up to her.

"Je t'aime, Marianne." Jeanne murmured. She loved France- all of her.

"You are going off to war-" Marianne spat, hurt. "Don't you understand how dangerous that is, you could be killed, it's a terrible idea-"

Tears stung her eyes, and she hugged Jeanne back, close to her body as she could, and sobbed. _Don't leave me._

Jeanne was going to do something great. Jeanne was going to save everyone in France, and put an end to her aching bones- but for once, Marianne didn't want to stop aching. She didn't want to stop her people's suffering. She just wanted to take this beautiful child of god- an angel- and lock her away and keep her safe.

Jeanne hushed her gently, rubbing the small of her back, and Marianne's mind raced a mile a minute. She was dressed like a man now, and surely if they just bound her breasts down and moved to some other place far, far away no one would know Jeanne was Jeanne and then she could take her as her husband and then they could lead a safe, happy life-

But Jeanne wouldn't have that, and Marianne already knew it.

So instead Marianne kissed her, kissed her deeply because she loved her and Jeanne herself had said decisions based on love were surely meant to be right and good-

And as she lay on the bed, unclothed now as Jeanne kissed her and touched her and made the room reek of sex, she hoped that Jeanne was right. Because she was selfish, and she wanted this, this union of Jeanne's lips and tongue and teeth and hand on her own most precious place and she wasn't going to give that up. Not even if a church would burn her at the stake for it.

She only hoped that god had more mercy than man, and enough empathy to see that she _loved_ this girl-

_Please lord don't damn her to hell._

* * *

><p>Her body had stopped hurting so terribly, but now her heart screamed in agony.<p>

Jeanne had won back Orleans. In fact, she had won back many things, so many things that all of France should be grateful for- so why was no one speaking right now, as this savior was being led to her death? She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she wanted to scream at Jeanne for not taking the god-damn reprieve and running away with her-

She wanted to kiss her again.

Jeanne stood in front of the crowd, and Marianne stood in it, but it was almost as though they all weren't there. Jeanne saw Marianne. Marianne saw Jeanne. Jeanne saw Marianne. Marianne saw the fire that her beloved was going to be burned with. Jeanne saw Marianne, and smiled. Marianne saw Jeanne about to die, and sobbed.

The executioner asked if she had last words. She smiled and opened her lips, as though Marianne was the only one there-

"I fought to save France. Never will there be a maiden fairer, more beautiful, or more perfect than she- I am honored to love her."

Marianne started bawling. Everyone else around her simply sighed heavy, pain-filled sighs- _poor girl, she's insane_ to Jeanne and _poor woman, she's hysterical_ to Marianne. The flames licked the bottom of her skirts now, and Jeanne's eyes finally teared, but she kept smiling, smiling for Marianne, smiling because she wanted Marianne to know she loved her.

"Je t'aime, Jeanne!" Marianne shrieked, over the roar of the flames, over the silence of the crowd. She only hoped that she could hear her, even if no one else in the world could.

_Je t'aime._

… _Je t'aime._

* * *

><p>Author's notes: (It's three am. I'm delusional.)<p>

I know, if you have me on Author alert, you were expecting the next chapter of Choke. I am sorry, but I had to write this first. It was messing with the way I wrote Choke, and it I didn't write it I would end up destroying Choke. Please understand that I didn't want to do that. I already had to scrap and restart so many times I didn't want to publish something less than decent on that. So, I will get it right and then I will update. I;ll try for soon.

That aside, if you clicked this because you actually wanted to read France and Jeanne, or yuri in genreal, or for any other reason, then I really hope that you enjoyed this story. I love fem!FrancexJeanne, they are one of my favorite parings, and I hope you got something out of them too~ I prefer yuri to yaoi, being a lesbian and all, and I plan to write more. I won't stop writing yaoi though, I like it too much XD

For the story, I did some research because I wanted it to be fairly accurate.

*Marianne rides a horse and not a carriage because it was unclear if carriges were in France circa 1400.

*Prussia did exist, to the best of my understanding, as did Spain. Gisella is fem!Prussia, and Alejandra is fem!Spain.

*When Jeanne was born France was already in conflict thus why Marianne is already in pain their first meeting. Jeanne also had visons even before she went to war, which was why she was able to tell Marianne about them earlier.

*Jeanne was declared a virgin, but virgin simply means not penetrated. She could have had oral sex and still been declared virginal.

Anyway, before you click the review button or the next chapter button, I will say two more things. Do NOT review if you are going to flame for the content here. I gave a warning in the summary that there would be sex, and it was fem!francexJeanne. I do not want you to tell me that I am a sick person for writing a saint having sex, because I know. Tell me something new please :)

If you liked the tragic ending, do not read the next chapter, it will ruin it for you. If you are like me and are very sensitive and wanted a happy ending, that is why I wrote a (mediocre drabble-y) epilogue. For you *heart*

Anyway, thanks for reading. I love reviews very much.


	2. Epilogue

Marianne was still as selfish as ever, really. She watched her people wage war, felt them all die, and she smiled. She smiled, but for her own reasons.

"Are you okay, Marianne?"

The question was asked gently, and a pair of arms wrapped around her bare waist as she continued to stare out her window. She relaxed into the grip and sighed contentedly, breathing in the musky smell of sex in the room.

"Oui, mon chéri. Je suis très bien." She said, lightly. And she was, really. She had what she wanted. Her bones could ache. She would be okay.

A soft sigh. "How do you handle it? If you can feel every single one of them suffering…"

"You just focus on better things."

"Like?"

"You."

A blush. "I still don't understand this being a country business. I believe it, I just don't understand it."

Marianne turned around now and kissed her lips gently before speaking.

"You don't have to right now. In time though, you will. After all you can feel it too, to a degree, non?"

She nodded. "Oui."

An embrace. "It will be okay." Marianne murmured. "Je t'aime, Jeanne."

"Je t'aime, Marianne."

God indeed had more mercy than man, and more generosity. God gave gifts, too.

* * *

><p>Extended Author's Note: And then there were rainbows and sparkles and kittens. The end.<p>

But really though, before the recent Jeanne D'arc strip in Hetalia, my head canon was that historical figures, if important enough, could come back in a similar form to nation people. Crack-ish? Maybe. But you have to admit it kind of makes sense, if Grandpa Rome is a smooth-talking ghost.

Hope you enjoyed~


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